Efforts to take knightly courtesy to the modern world of Oxford Street led to
some awkward encounters

It isn’t easy being chivalrous. I have only decided to live by knightly virtues for five minutes when Dr Andrea Hopkins from Oxford University calls to say that I can never truly achieve my mission. “You don’t have a horse and armour,” she laughs. “You have to prove your worth. A young knight would go on a quest to prove he is worthy of the lady he loves.”

I may lack a steed but my quest is simple enough: to spend all day doing good deeds to womankind to prove myself worthy of the word. I am armed with overcoat, spotty handkerchief and umbrella, determined to be gallant and noble.

But as I arrive on London’s Oxford Street, I immediately offend against the code, absent-mindedly rebuffing a saleswoman’s offer of a leaflet. Normally I would continue down the street and soon forget my guilt, but now I have a licence to be honourable. I look back at the woman, shivering despite her bobble hat and jacket. It is time to right a wrong. I step into a coffee shop, order her a tea and return.

“This is for you,” I tell her. “You looked cold.” She stares back, clearly disturbed, and replies sharply: “Oh, sorry, I’m fine.” We then share a very awkward five seconds of silence before I force the issue: “You don’t want it?”

“What kind of tea is it?” A breakthrough. I tell her it is plain with milk. Finally, she accepts and asks my name. This is the first in a series of encounters that start awkwardly but end well: women seem no longer equipped to respond to unprompted acts of male kindness. Instead, their reflex reaction is to be immediately suspicious.

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Sipping her tea, Ildiko Szepesi, who emigrated from Hungary nine years ago, says men are much less polite than back home. A man has never given up his seat for her in Britain and she even complains men rarely smile.

Like Szepesi, French student Marion Ianotto is so surprised by my offer to carry her two suitcases up a flight of stairs that she refuses, insisting: “I’m fine.” It is only when I point out she is not fine that she relents.

“I’m not used to saying, 'Oh, thank you, you can help me,’ ” she admits. “People used to help others but that has got lost now as we are more individual.” But she is glad I persisted beyond her initial rejection: “I think I would still be downstairs if you hadn’t helped me.”

Such reflexive rebuffs are one of several obstacles to be overcome by men determined to be chivalrous. Would a 60-year-old woman be offended to be considered elderly enough to have a seat relinquished for her? How sure can a man be that a woman is pregnant and has not just overindulged? Chivalry has become a minefield for the modern man.

And then there is the awkward question of sexism: the concept of vigorous young men making way for the fairer sex could be seen to reinforce outdated gender stereotypes. “Some women would think it would be a loss of freedom,” admits Ianotto. “But I think sometimes it can just be really helpful. It is surely meant as a nice gesture.”

Chivalry is also time‑consuming. I open the door for one woman at John Lewis and am still standing there a minute later as several more speed up to charge through, laughing at my willingness to mimic a doorman. “Thank you,” says the security guard, eyeing me perplexedly. The costliest requirement is self‑sacrifice: I do not mind giving up my time but I am rather fond of my new overcoat. Yet such was Sir Walter Raleigh’s chivalry that he once removed his cloak to cover a puddle of water so that Queen Elizabeth I would remain dry.

I do not recommend repeating this gesture on Oxford Street. It can be difficult to ensure the coat acts as a stepping stone for women of virtue but not for passing traffic. As a bus drives by, its passengers bang on the windows: a truly chivalrous man is apparently as alien as a zoo exhibit.

At least Laura Brown, the lady I am trying to protect from the damp, will appreciate my efforts. Step on my overcoat, I tell her. “Oh no,” she says. “It is far too nice.”

Men covering puddles may “not really” be the 19-year-old’s idea of chivalry, but would she be offended if I gave up my seat?

“No. I can appreciate their intentions are good but it wouldn’t really be necessary. Still, I would say thank you – and probably take the seat as well.”